


99

by Davechicken



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Could be pre-slash or gen, Food Porn, M/M, Or most assuredly not, Trigger warning for anyone who hates icecream, Why are you in this fandom though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 13:28:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20426747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: Aziraphale is annoyed they didn't get to eat their ice-cream and lolly.





	99

**Author's Note:**

> See the end for the inspiration. And I love requests!

Of course he’d made the mistake of saying ‘Oh, we never finished our treats!’ the next time they went to the park. Nice, sunny day. The children still off, running around and scaring pigeons into a new dinosaur evolution. And Crowley, as expected, had rolled his eyes and taken him to the man in the cheerily rip-off cartoon covered van.

Aziraphale remembered the evolution of most food. From the things he hadn’t been so interested in (the early attempts at barbeque, or life before sugar and spices in some countries) to things he’d found utterly delightful. If there was one course he’d always pick over the others, it was most assuredly the sweet one. 

And now, now there was such variety! And such charm. He’d tasted everything on the menu here (multiple times) and still he had to look over them all pensively as he decided which he was in the mood for today. By the time they were at the front of the queue, the demon ordered first to give him the required few moments of hand-wringing before he blurted out his decision. 

Crowley paid. Aziraphale would not let him avoid financial elements if he was ‘treating’ him. 

And back to their bench they had gone. Theirs, because whenever they approached, anyone who had the foolish notion to use it would find a stronger, more foolish notion about not. 

Aziraphale unwrapped his brightly coloured ice stick, decorated with ‘chocolate’ and sprinkles, and then folded the wrapper up in a napkin for later disposal. Crowley did not wait for him.

Oh no. The serpent most assuredly did not wait. He had licked at his melting ice-cream before they even got to the bench, and now he was sprawled with one arm over the backrest, and doing frankly obscene things with his tongue. 

There were children! And - worse - adults! They’d see him! They’d see him pushing his tongue into the yielding non-Euclidean substance! They’d see the way he carved off sections and gulped them down that delicious throat of his. How his lips would approach, wide and ready, then pluck a whorl of white goop after, drawing sections right into his mouth. Tiny flickers of suggestive sugar in the corners of his smirk, and the way the cool substance made his lips brighter red.

On. And on. 

As it melted, he had the audacity to draw the cone across his tongue, as if spinning sugar of his own, before he would kiss the trail closed and…

And he wasn’t even touching the flake! The monolith of folded chocolate that stood proud of all this oral wizardry. Shouldn’t he nibble it on the way? Or push it deeper - so deep - into the base of the waffle cone? Tuck it away for later consumption? Aziraphale’s fingers itched to do just that, to feel the way the soft serve gave way under his finger.

But no. Crowley had to leave the shaft standing erect and ridiculous and indecent and proud. A monument to the reasons he’d fallen, surely? Absolutely not knowing what the correct thing to do was.

Oh, it made him mad. So mad that he only now realised that his own treat was melting, and dripping pinkly onto his fist, which was nearly splintering the stick in his palm. Reluctantly, he tried to catch the drips without slurping, and patted (reluctantly) at the dribbles on his hand. He would not give Crowley the satisfaction of lowering to his level and licking himself. In public.

(Again.)

Bugger.

Crowley had by now devoured all visible white stuff, and had taken to nibbling his sharp teeth through the soggy cone bowl. Still ignoring the flake. He wasn’t looking at the angel, but Aziraphale knew this show was for him. And he knew, too, that it was working.

Damn him. Literally. Damn him.

He leaned over, as Crowley leaned back, and sealed his lips around the chocolate flake. Without looking up, he bit right through it, then sat back to continue eating his own.

Aziraphale could feel the eyes upon him, but he was not going to - he was not -

“I know it’s your favourite part,” Crowley chuckled. 

So? So? So what. It was a good combination. And…

“You didn’t tempt me.”

“Oh?”

“I knew you were offering, so it was just me being polite, in taking a bite.”

“Whatever you say.”

Aziraphale flushed. He hoped no one saw that, and wondered how you continued to look dignified after that. Crowley, for his part, just carried on nibbling down the cone.

Blasted demon. Next time he’d have to take him for fresh little donuts. There were several suggestive things you could do with the holes, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> 


End file.
